


A Business Venture

by PhantomDreamshade



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Genre: Creepy and Vague, F/M, Mentions of Six
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-02-06 12:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12817416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomDreamshade/pseuds/PhantomDreamshade
Summary: Some delightfully eerie and mysterious short stories about some of Little Nightmares' characters.





	1. Because I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A story of one of the Maw's guests, and her perfectly reasonable thought process.

Her reasoning for coming to the Maw was simple, and entirely within reason. She could; therefore, she must. She could not comprehend why her family could not understand this. Her aunt, slowly withering away on the mattress that would no doubt be her deathbed, had called her a demon. Her three cousins had called her mad. Her own brother had called her a pig. The fools; they were jealous of their smaller inheritances, and Auntie had always been jealous of her father - and by extent, her.

The ship that carried her to her destination was luxurious on its interior. Its hull was grimy and soot-stained, but that was to avoid drawing attention to it. She could understand; not even money could keep the masses away if they were riled. What disgusting creatures - thin, clingy, worthless. The hull was dirty, yes, but the floors were spotless. The rooms were draped with silk and gold and jewels in excess; the dining room was extravagant. The menu included all manner of illegal and endangered meats, bought only with a hefty sum of cash.

The inside of the Maw was less accommodating, but still passable. Her biggest complaint was the fact that they actually forced her to  _ walk _ . Her lungs heaved with the effort of propelling her body forward. It was difficult to keep from stumbling; she had almost forgotten how to move an extended distance. Her brother had called her a pig for gorging herself while the city around her starved. He had called her a pig for making the servants carry her everywhere. The simpleton was exhausting to deal with; she did not have to move, and thus, she did not. Her money would move her.

Her hostess watched the guests arrive from a balcony. She was disgustingly thin; she stood, rather than sat. Did she not have someone to watch the arrivals for her? Did she not have the means to round out her form? How perplexing. How vexing. How disappointing.

The decor was Asian, she noted as she passed into the dining area. She knew not from what specific country; it did not matter. They were all the same. Bony, fragile, stupid rodents that scampered under her feet. At last, she was surrounded by colleagues. They understood how the world worked. Her cousins called her mad for sailing into the middle of the ocean, where no eyes could see her. They called her mad for partaking in something so blatantly illegal and taboo. They didn’t understand how the world worked. Her money transcended all laws and all consequences. No authority could touch her, for her money would speak for her.

To an outside observer, the food would have been outrageous. Meats were left half or uncooked, vegetables all held a touch of rot, sea brine had found its way into every dish, and tiny grains of ground bone permeated the sausages. Some would be outraged; she was delighted. The taste of the food was irrelevant, as was its effect on her health. The only thing that mattered was that it had existed, and her money had bought it. It could be eaten, and thus, she ate it. She ate it my mouthfuls and handfuls, and swallowed it without chewing so that more could be put into her mouth.

What was in the food was, paradoxically, the least and most important part of the Maw. It was most important because of how taboo, how rare, how expensive it was. It could only be bought with her money.

But it was also unimportant. Auntie had called her a demon for going to feast on the flesh of children. She had told her that all of her money would never be able to buy her a soul. What a senile old woman; it had already bought her a dozen souls; perhaps a hundred. A thousand. A thousand souls held precious by almost everyone, and yet were worthless beyond comparison. They were of most use this way, for they served her and those like her. They did not whine or beg or condemn; they simply disappeared into her gullet to be forgotten.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a tiny girl appeared next to her side. The lighting seemed to dim; it was irrelevant. She had been provided with something extra; something wholly unique. A living child was even more precious, even more taboo. Surely it would cost extra; this was marvelous. She reached for her prize.

The woman could not comprehend what happened to her, even as the life was drained from her body.  Even as her ears filled with the screams of the damned and her eyes with darkness unabating, she could not comprehend that, for the first time, her money was worthless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, uh... I made a Tumblr? Go check that out, my name’s phantomdreamshade over there too. Or don’t. I’m not the boss of you.


	2. Usefulness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just whose Granny is the mysterious water monster of the Depths?

The mother sat in her chair, overlooking the churning ocean from high atop a tower. The motion of the sea below made it almost as pleasant as the rocking chair in her old cottage. It was one of the mere two things she enjoyed anymore; the salty air had long blinded her nostrils even to the growing stench of death that wafted up from the bowels of the Maw, and her eyes nor ears found any pleasure in the endless monotony of the water below.

Damp night wind blew into the room, rustling the fabric of her clothing. She made a slight adjustment to the shawl around her shoulders, but did not react otherwise. Even in her old age, the chill had no effect on her. As far as days went on this infernal ship, today had not been terrible. At the very least, the night was grey and starless. She closed her eyes and prepared to drift off into her dreams; she did not bother to rise and retire to the never-used bed a few feet to her left.

What little of her good mood remained immediately soured as the door to her room swung open soundlessly. The mother did not bother to look who had entered. She already knew.

“I require another,” the daughter said. “I will not have my very first guests go hungry.”

The mother’s face slowly twisted into a scowl. “You have enough. I have found many for you; I am tired. Leave me in peace, girl.”

The daughter walked slowly to stand in front of her chair. The mother’s scowl deepened. “I require another,” the daughter said. Her tone of voice had not changed. The mother said nothing, but reached over with her right hand to the orb beside her. She held it in her lap, and her eyes misted with grey. Her sight left her body to look elsewhere.

An image appeared in her mind’s eye; a tiny, vague form ran through shadows. She could see no other detail; it was like looking through a veil of thick smoke and frosted glass. Like her senses, her gift had dulled with age. She placed the orb back on its stand and gave a weak, strained cough. The daughter stared expectantly.

“I see nothing,” the mother said, resting her gnarled hands back in her lap. “You have taxed me too much. Now go.”

The daughter lifted her chin haughtily, but left the room anyway. The door closed behind her with a soft click. The mother’s other joy was her gift; but even this had been sucked dry by the girl. She brooded with her dark thoughts through the night until sleep took her.

* * *

The door opened again the following evening, much to the mother’s displeasure. Her mood was already foul from the previous night’s distasteful encounter and the rays of sun that had pierced this day’s ceiling of clouds. Her old, gnarled fingers grasped the arms of the old chair, revealing her annoyance.

“You make a pest of yourself, girl,” the mother said. She coughed, wheezing old, stale air from her lungs.

“Rise. I desire to share something with you,” The daughter said. Her voice was still the same.

The mother narrowed her eyes in disapproval, but rose from the chair anyway. Her old bones creaked as much as the wooden flooring did, both stiff and brittle from the sea air. Her back hunched as she finally stood on her feet, her long, grey hair spilling over her face like moss from a swamp tree.

One step at a time, she followed the daughter from the room. She made no effort to rush; the daughter made no effort to rush her. They stopped at a stretch of railing, overlooking a fathomless abyss that led down into the depths of the Maw. The smell of salt and decay drifted up from it lazily.

The mother turned around to look at the daughter. “Tell me what you wish to share, girl,” she said. She made no attempt to hide the venom in her voice.

The ghost of a smile made its way onto the daughter’s lips. Only the mother could see it through the mask. “I wish to share my condolences. You will not live long enough to become a grandmother.” The daughter pressed her hands to her stomach; it was swollen ever so slightly; the mark of a child just conceived.

The mother raised her arms to defend herself as she was thrown back by a wall of spite and shadow. She pushed back, but she could muster little force. She was bent backwards over the railing, nearly in half, tangled hair now hanging over the abyss instead of her eyes. Her fingers contorted in concentration, but it was to no avail. She could not escape.

“Why?” She asked. There was no bite to her words, nor a tinge of fear. The question was out of little more than curiosity.

“You are no longer of use.” The daughter’s voice held no flame of disapproval, nor sting of acid, nor biting cold. It held only the distant chill provided by an empty void.

“Your gift is not mine,” the mother warned. “You cannot see the children as I do. Your guests will go hungry.”

“I have enough for the time being. Your replacement will come soon.” The daughter looked down at her stomach.

With one final burst of magic, the mother fell. Old bones splintered as they were flung against metal walls and down dark pipes; they shattered as they hit water with the force of a fallen bird against concrete. Dry, leathery skin ripped and turned the water inky and dark.

If the woman had been normal, she would have been dead many times over. But she was not so, and thus the dark scraps of her soul clung to the broken body. Water poured into her lungs; even she was not immortal - something had to be done.

In her mind, she reached for the last of her gift. Slowly, her bones knitted back together, and her withering flesh sealed shut. With one last flare of sorcery, the fire in her lungs extinguished. She breathed in and out deeply, expelling the last of the air from her chest. Water filled it now; it felt natural.

Like all magic, it came with a price. Her gift no longer responded; nor did her eyes. She was shrouded by darkness; but her ears remained functional. So did her perception of the water currents over her skin.

* * *

Even her transformation could not keep the hunger at bay forever. She needed something - anything. As if it had heard her thoughts, something small and thin plunked into the water above her. She reached up, following the sound of its splashing. Her hand wrapped around a little leg; she dragged it down.

It squirmed as her old, rotted teeth pierced through the thin fabric it wore. A fountain of bubbles erupted from its mouth, its scream muffled by water. Its flesh was sweet against the acrid tang of salt in her mouth; how delicious. It kept flailing, but not for long. Soon, it drifted lazily in the pool for her to consume at her leisure.

As she sucked the last of the marrow from its bones, a cold shiver ran down her spine. The Maw seemed to groan with some heavy new weight. A twisted smile worked its way onto her lips.

It appeared she lived to be a Granny after all.


	3. Willingly Grotesque

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a simple reason why the twins butcher children.

The cleaver slammed down onto the table, splitting the lumpy mass of flesh below into two, then three, then four. On the next swing, it caught on something; the chef pulled the knife back up to reveal it had embedded itself in a spine. He put the cleaver down and used his hands to pry the meat apart; it came undone with a satisfying  _ pop _ as more blood dripped off of the side of the table onto the floor below. He picked his knife back up.

A timer dinged off to his left; he shut it off with a pudgy finger. He walked off to the stove area, tossing vegetables into bubbling pots and roasts into ovens. He didn’t bother to wash his hands; the guests wouldn’t really care. Wordlessly, his twin arrived from the elevator and resumed butchering the meat right where his brother had left off. They gave each other no greeting; it wasn’t necessary.

One reached under his mask and scratched his scruffy jowls. The hair on his chin was patchy and haphazardly shaved; at one point, both had preferred a smooth face, but they had given up trying with a razor under the masks. It didn’t work very well. They didn’t really mind all that much; they’d worn worse masks than the ones currently on their faces. They were supple, like a second skin, rather than hard and cold and plastic. If their employer required it, it would be done.

The first brother went to unlock the door to the adjacent room, but realized he had left the key elsewhere. He racked his brain for the information, but couldn’t recall it; the second brother shrugged at him. People used to say they only shared half a brain between them; it wasn’t all that far from the truth. They brothers knew they weren’t smart; they didn’t need to be. That wasn’t what made them valuable.

The first brother’s slow mind finally recalled that the key was in their bedroom; he stepped into the elevator to retrieve it. The second pulled a fresh sack of meat out of the storage room and began unwrapping it. This one wriggled a little; a tiny arm popped out, trying to escape. The kitchen, usually quiet, was punctuated by a scream as the cleaver came down. The chef didn’t care; he’d done worse things. People used to say that the brothers only had half a heart between them; it wasn’t far from the truth. They had grown up callous and half-dead.

People used to say that the only thing they loved was each other. That assumption was wrong. The brothers loved nothing; not cruelty, not their work, not each other. They didn’t need to love each other - they  _ were _ each other. They thought the same thoughts; they breathed the same air. Even when one slept and the other worked, their hearts beat in time. It wasn’t love; it was just how they existed. Two halves of the same person. 

But even that wasn’t what made them valuable; it made them unique. It was what caught the Lady’s eye when she first hired them as her chefs. It wasn’t why she chose them, however.

No, their value lied in the fact that they were willing to do anything. It had served them well before; they were always employed. They murdered, stole, burned, poisoned, and abandoned everything required of them. They did the dirty work, and they always survived because of it. With all that they had done, it was only a matter of time until they were caught - but their résumé had attracted aid. They worked for the Lady now, and they would continue to do so until it was no longer advantageous.

Someone had once asked them how they could stand to look into the mirror. The brothers didn’t lie to themselves; they knew their reflection was grotesque. It wasn’t that hard to realize. The difference was that they were  _ willingly _ grotesque. They hadn’t been born that way; no one was. The brothers knew that those who were successful in life were the ones willing to do anything.


	4. Blind Loyalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Janitor wasn't always blind.

The Janitor stacked the last cage on top of the pile, neatly and symmetrically. The child inside whimpered pathetically. Poor thing. It had known nothing but fear for its stay in the Maw; soon, their stay would end. Still, the Janitor had a job to do and he would do it, regardless of how he might feel about the work personally. He tried his best not to get attached to the children, sleeping sweetly in their beds. Sometimes, it was impossible to avoid.

The telltale chill of his mistress appeared in the door to his right; he turned and bowed deeply. “You grace me with your presence, Mistress,” he said. She had not visited him in some time. “How may I serve you?”

The Lady tossed a cage to floor unceremoniously. “Put this with the others.” She moved to leave. The janitor inspected the cage; inside was a tiny girl, in a tiny little yellow raincoat, knees huddled up to her chest. She looked like she was crying. How curious; the Lady would not normally deliver a child to him personally. Usually, the Ferryman would bring them to him.

Then, he saw something clutched between her fingers. It was a lighter; the Janitor recognized it, and then its keeper. “Mistress… is this Six?” The Lady turned back to him slowly.

“What does that matter?”

The Janitor knew this little girl. He had cleaned her room, and brought her toys, and watched her when her father could not. It had been some time since he last saw her, but he had grown attached to her; he thought he would be allowed to. “But, Mistress… this is your own daughter.”

The lights in the room shattered as the Lady struck out with her magic. There was a scream, a painful, howling scream. “You will  _ never _ question me again,” the Lady said, voice cold. “Now get back to work. I expect production to continue as planned.” The Janitor heard her float from the room, and the door slam behind her. The man moaned in pain, struggling to pull himself up off of the floor. He could not afford to rest. He reached up to his face, to find the source of the searing pain.

Liquid ran down his face, warm like blood and thick like gelatin. It ran from his eyes; he found them with his fingers. Or rather, he found the empty sockets where they used to be. They were gone, melted from his skull. The light did not return; it never would again. He started to cry without tears, wrapping his arms around himself in his own grief, but he still walked forward to the cage. He had work to do.

He put his hands on the metal, beginning to lift it off of the ground. The cage creaked as the door swung open slowly. He stuck his hand inside, panicking. The cage was empty. The girl was gone.

The Janitor dropped the cage, anger searing his chest. The girl. It was the girl’s fault; she had made his Lady displeased with him. The girl had taken his eyes. It was all her fault.

He felt around for some of the cloth he used to wrap the children, and tied it around his hollow eye sockets, before replacing his hat on top of his head. He would find the girl, not for revenge, but for his Mistress’ sake.

For, above all things, the Janitor was loyal. He would never question his mistress again.


	5. Weak of Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man who hangs from the ceiling near the beginning of Six's journey once had a job at the Maw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about the Hanging Man - and that means a character commits suicide here. If that bothers you, then please - don't read.

The man sat down at the monitor and pressed the switch to activate it. The great metal eye on the wall in front of him opened wide; it showed him his Lady. She stood in front of her broken mirror, as she usually did, stroking a comb through her dark hair and humming a slow melody. He pressed the switch again.

The chefs continued to cook, tirelessly. The guests gorged themselves on the unholy meal - he turned away, stomach roiling in disgust. He flipped through empty rooms. He saw the children sleeping; he turned away again, this time not in disgust but in shame. He saw a small boy in a faded green shirt slipping through a door; he carried no light with him. The man moved the screen away from him as he began his escape, perfectly willing to turn a blind eye. What his Lady did not know would not hurt her.

The man saw the Janitor; something was wrong. He stumbled blindly through corridors, feeling his way along the walls with his fingertips. Some sort of cloth was tied around his head, soaked through with some strange dark liquid. The man could guess who was responsible; he felt a pang of compassion, but changed the screen anyway. There was nothing he could do.

The man flipped to the living room. It was empty; normally, it shouldn’t have been. He moved to another room. Then another. Then another. His pace grew more frantic; he could not find what he was looking for. He turned the eye off and left as quickly as he could, marching to the elevator. It carried him upwards.

He nearly ran up the stairs, knocking picture frames crooked as he went past. His Lady stopped humming as he entered the room, slowly turning her masked gaze to meet his.

“I cannot find her,” he said, breathing heavily. He entwined his thin fingers together, standing tall and thin and fragile. His already pale skin blanched with cold fear.

“That is no longer a concern of yours,” his Lady said, voice flat and neutral. “Your duty is to look for escaping children. Now go.” She turned back to the mirror and resumed combing her hair once again.

“Where is she?” His voice was thin and mousy. He knew that he did not want the answer, but the question escaped his mouth anyway.

“With the others, where she belongs,” she answered simply. She did not look at him.

“How could you?” The words were barely audible; all of the air had been stolen from his lungs. “She is… she is your daughter - She is  _ our daughter _ !” The sentence was less a statement than it was a plea.

“She was a threat to me. Did you not promise me that you would love me above all things, above everything you possessed and everything to come? That was the arrangement, as I recall. She needed to be removed, so I removed her. Leave me.”

The man walked back down the stairs, expression blank, mind running in circles within the confines of his skull.  _ Was a threat _ . Past tense. She implied that their daughter was gone, she couldn’t be  _ gone, there still had to be time there still had to be timeitwasnttolateitcantbetolate _

* * *

The man spent days at the screen, looking. He watched until his thin, willowy knees gave out from exhaustion and hunger and loss of hope. He crawled away, crawled through the rooms of the Maw past the room of his blind friend, until he could crawl no more.

The exhaustion did not dull the insomnia. He could not close his eyes. Terrible thoughts crawled through his ears, unimpeded by walls of sanity. He saw the signs of what would happen earlier, and he ignored them. He should have known. He should have done something. He should have died before he allowed it. He should have had the life sucked out of him, should have drowned in the waves, should have been on the chefs’ table, should have  _ died _ before he allowed them to take her. Take their Six.  _ His _ Six.

But he did nothing. Why did he do nothing?  _ Because you are weak of will, _ the thoughts reminded him.  _ You always have been. You were charmed by a witch. You watch as she butchers children. You let her kill your daughter. Weak. Weak. Weak, weak, weakweakweak… _

The thoughts clouded his vision as he looked around the room he had not bothered to look at before. There was a bed; there was a chair; there was rope. A chair, and rope.

He barely felt his limbs as he rose from the ground. He barely felt the rope as he tied it. He felt nothing as he stepped off of the back of the chair.


	6. Vanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason the Lady surrounds herself with hideous people and shattered mirrors.

Magic was a curious thing. It ran through her blood, and the blood of her mother, and her grandmother, and her great-grandmother. All of them were Seers; but each one saw different things. Her mother could see from afar. The Lady could not.

She looked down on the guests from her balcony as they arrived. They were disgusting creatures; rotund, waddling, grotesque beings consumed by avarice and gluttony. They were ugly, inside and out; that was the point. It helped ease her mind, how hideous they were; she was certain she was more beautiful than them. She had to be.

The Lady walked inside, up to her chambers, and pulled a comb from the dresser. She took part of her hair down and ran the comb through it; it was the fifth time she had done so today. Her hair had to be perfect: not one tangle. The comb’s teeth glided through effortlessly, but she had to be sure. The broken mirror in front of her offered no council.

Her husband had not returned for some time; it was aggravating, but not unexpected. She had married him for his weak will; when she looked upon him, she saw something tall and thin and fragile, like spun glass. His image was not unpleasant; she did not want an ugly husband. But he was not more beautiful than her, and that was the most important part.

Her business venture had gone well, so far. The guests busied themselves with desecrating their own bodies; the Janitor slaved away in his lair. The chefs - rotten and decayed and dead inside - performed their task admirably. And the children - the children dropped like flies, each light flickering out in turn. She could not stand to look upon them; their skin glowed like a ray of sunlight, and their eyes sparkled like precious jewels. The sweet perfume of innocence that accompanied them was only tolerable when soured with fear.

She would never admit what she knew to be true. The children were more beautiful than she; they always had been. Only Six, tainted by her mother’s shadow, was tolerable - and she had become a threat by proxy of that very same gift.

The Lady moved to her attic and risked a glance into the room she had boarded up long ago. The mirror still rested on its cushion. She longed to grab it and stare into her own beautiful reflection; but she knew it would be in vain.

Her abilities were far more a curse than a blessing, for when she looked upon someone, she saw the truth. She saw what people truly were, beneath their masks of flesh and skin. Her sight had cursed her reflection, her most beautiful reflection.

For when she looked into the mirror, she saw a truth that she denied. She shattered the glass, called it a liar, even though she knew it had shown nothing false. When she looked into a mirror, the only thing behind the mask was an empty void.


	7. Echoes (An Epilogue)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What became of the girl with the flashlight that the Runaway Kid followed on his escape?

The girl ran, and kept running, flashlight in hand but unused unless necessary, lest unfriendly eyes be drawn to it. She tied the stolen bedsheets around the bars of the window, descending to what she hoped would be her freedom. She was greeted by more cold metal, damp from pipes leaking far above. Where should she go now?

She heard footsteps behind her; someone was coming. As quietly as she could, she shoved aside a loose manhole cover and dropped into the pipework underneath. She slid far, far down into the Maw, shielding her head with her hands as best she could. She finally hit solid ground, dizzy from the fall.

Another sound broke the silence; it was a slithering, squelching noise. The girl staggered to her feet, looking for its source. She was knocked back to the ground as something grabbed her ankle. Her flashlight tumbled from her hands as it dragged her away into the darkness. She screamed. Then, there was silence.

* * *

The Nomes huddled in their hideaway, furnace still glowing from a long day of shoveling coals. Here, it was safe and warm and dry. In the firelight, they almost remembered things; the sound of a name, a blurred face, a past life. The embers flared to life as something crawled out of the furnace.

It was a new Nome, body covered head to toe in soot. It stumbled out onto the ground, looking around confusedly. The Nomes could tell it was a she; they didn’t know how. They just knew.

One of the Nomes waved to her, and she waved back tentatively. She didn’t know what was going on; but she felt relieved, for some reason. She was safe now. Had she not been before?

She sat down with the others in front of the firelight. It was comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This concludes my Little Nightmares series. Thank you to everyone that decided to read my work. I hope you have a wonderful day - and sleep well, if you can.


End file.
